


Static on the Radio

by AWriterHasNoName



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWriterHasNoName/pseuds/AWriterHasNoName
Summary: The Winchesters are interrupted post-hunt.





	Static on the Radio

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Carrie Underwood.
> 
> As always, beta'd offline by a friend. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own them.

“Are you absolutely sure, Sam?” Dean sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his hair, making the short strands stand on end.  
“The research is clear: The pattern is every 14 years on the 14th and that’s tomorrow.” Sam closes the Men of Letters file and takes a sip of his beer.  
“We have to do this tonight. The Men of Letters isolated the pattern in the 50s but the thing with Abaddon happened before they could act. We can’t afford to wait.”  
Dean narrows his eyes as he stares at his brother. He knows what Sam’s not saying, that they can’t wait because they may not be here in 14 years. Sam’s returning stare is challenging. He knows he’s right and Dean knows he’s right and Sam knows Dean knows. Another put upon sigh, another gulp of beer. Dean pushes his chair back from the table and stands up. There are enough civilian deaths on their collective conscience.  
“Routine salt and burn, right?”  
Sam’s smirk says he knows he’s won. “A milk run. Four hours, tops.”

Torrential downpour twenty minutes into the dig turns Sam’s four hour milk run into an eight hour mud bath. Dean gives a silent moment of gratitude for Sam who had the presence of mind to grab a “just in case” drop cloth for Baby before they left. They are soaked through and covered in mud. Dean’s shoulder and knees are screaming in protest at every move and he knows from how Sam is holding his body, Sam’s are too. Dean stops and stares at Sam until he looks up, wet hair plastered to his head.  
“We’re getting too old for grave digging in the rain, Sammy”, Dean shouts over the rain. Sam smirks and nods in agreement as his shovel hits casket wood.

  
It stops raining on the drive back from Burr Oak. They’re shivering so much Baby’s heat is on, despite it being about 70 degrees outside. Sam looks over at Dean, who fights back a yawn.  
Sam is flexing his arm and gently massaging his knee “Aren’t you glad we’ve got unlimited hot water and great water pressure?”  
Dean’s fingers, now caked with dried mud, lightly drum on the steering wheel. He’s bone weary and his body is aching. “More than you know.”  
They really are getting too old for this shit.

The shower room in the bunker always reminded them of high school, with shower heads and temperature controls lining three of the walls and a half wall separating the dressing area. Since privacy was not very high on the Winchester list of Important Concepts Between Brothers, Sam and Dean removed the walls separating each shower head in favor of a large area that better fits their needs. This was the one location in the bunker that was completely off limits to angels and with Mary gone they were the only ones who used the room on a regular basis. They were certainly the only ones who ever used the room at the same time. Against the far wall, a pool chaise and chair liberated from the Smith Center pool after hours are strategically placed under the angled shower heads. Lately, they need to be still with the hot water beating down on them more often than not post-hunt. A collection of bottles and jars stands on the half wall, everything from Sam’s shampoo and conditioner that Dean openly mocks but secretly loves the smell of, to various shower gels, assorted cold remedies, and muscle balms. This room is a bit of a sanctuary for them, providing a private space where Sam and Dean can isolate themselves. When they’re in here, it’s off limits to everyone.  
They toss their muddy clothes into a pile and Dean turns on the shower head above it to rinse them out. By the time he’s got his water temperature just south of scalding the way he likes it, Sam is leaning against the wall with his eyes closed as the water runs down his body. Dean watches his brother for a moment and realizes that Sam’s asleep. He shakes his head and grabs the pool chair.

“Come on, Sammy. Don’t drown on me. Sit down before you fall down.” Sam nods and opens his eyes long enough to roll them before they slam shut again. Dean knows he’s exhausted by the way Sam is allowing him to manhandle him into the chair.  
“I can do it, Dean. Just give me a minute.” Sam’s eyes are closed and he waves his arm over his head to try and swat Dean away as he squirts some shampoo on Sam’s head. Dean easily shifts out of the way and chuckles.   
“You’re like a newborn giraffe. Stop fighting me.” A ghost of a smile passes Sam’s lips and he drops the pretense of protest. Sam loves when Dean washes his hair.

  
Sam tilts his head back and looks at Dean “It always reminds me of being in the bathtub when we were little and how you used to be so careful to not get soap in my eyes. Even when you wanted to be somewhere else or you were mad at me.” Sam reaches up and grabs Dean’s wrist. “Thank you, Dean.”  
Dean stops scrubbing for a second and tugs on a fistful of hair. “Well,” he says gruffly, “you’ve always had stupid hair and you know how I hate to make chicks cry.”  
Sam smirks and loosens his grip as his eyes shut again. It’s nice here in this warm, quiet bubble with the only person who matters. Dean knows what Sam’s thinking. “Me too,” he whispers so low Sam thinks for a moment he imagined it.  
Sam isn’t sure how much time passes when he feels pressure and tension in Dean’s hands. As Sam’s eyes snap open, he hears an unmanly squeak as Dean hides behind him. Castiel is standing in the dressing area, looking at them.  
“Sam. Dean.”  
Dean quickly retrieves the shampoo bottle from near his feet and throws it at Castiel. “GODDAMMIT, you KNOW this is off limits. GET OUT,” he growls.  
Sam doesn’t say a word, now wide-awake and angry. He leaps out of the chair and walks towards the angel, covered in scars, tattoos, and soap suds. His dick swinging as his long strides eat up the distance quickly and he has Castiel by the lapels. Sam gets right in his face and in clipped tones, reminds him. “You know the rules. You don’t come in here. Ever.”  
Dean is muttering and cursing behind him, using the chair to shield his nakedness as best he can. Sam spins Castiel around and frog-marches him to the open door, pushes him through, and slams the door shut and locks it behind him. He turns to his brother and can see what Castiel saw; Dean’s left leg, from hip to toe. He looks down and realizes Castiel saw his left leg too. Dick still swinging, he marches back under the shower spray and rinses off. He eyeballs Dean slyly. “After we give him what for, we’re going to discuss that noise you just made, Deana.”

  
Dean pinches the back of Sam’s arm but nods. He’s furious.

“….so, one last time. When one or both of us is in the shower room, it’s off limits,” Dean points at himself and Sam to drive the point home. “This is non-negotiable. Do it again and you’re gone.”  
“Are we clear?” Sam bites out. Castiel opens his mouth to say something but at Sam’s steely glare, closes it again. “Yes, Sam. We’re clear.”  
Dean’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “What? What do you want to ask us?”  
Castiel looks at Sam, but his question is for Dean. “What is that tattoo on your legs?”  
Sam and Dean look at each other for a long moment. Their conversation is utterly silent, and there’s very little outward sign they’re even communicating. Raised eyebrows, shrugs, and a few eye rolls are the only sign something is being discussed. It’s clearly making Castiel uncomfortable, which is why it continues for far longer than necessary.

  
Jack walked in at some point during the silent exchange and is sitting quietly, looking confused at Sam and Dean’s non-verbal tennis match.  
A conclusion having finally been reached, Sam turns to Jack and brings him up to speed. “Castiel walked in on Dean and me in the shower and wants to know about the tattoos we have on our legs.”  
Jack nods but remains silent. He can tell Sam and Dean are angry and he doesn’t want to make that worse. Dean gets loud and blustery and sometimes throws things but its Sam’s quiet seething that scares Jack the most. He sits up and adopts a hopeful, interested expression. “Will you tell us?”  
Dean nods at Sam. “After you, Sammy. Technically yours is older.”  
Sam snorts and takes a breath. “Dean was in the hospital back when Dad died. If not for Dad’s deal, Dean wouldn’t have made it.”  
Dean lightly punches Sam’s thigh. “Sam was in the hospital after the trials, when the angels fell. If not for the deal I made with Gadreel, Sam wouldn’t have made it.”  
Sam nods and looks down. Things had gotten ugly after that for a while. “They’re EKG readouts of heartbeats. The one on my leg is Dean’s and the one on his leg is mine.”  
“We stole our files from the hospitals. These readouts are when they told us the other was gonna make it.”  
Jack has a quizzical expression on his face. “But why on your legs? I mean, that’s good. A heartbeat is way better than initials, right?” All eyes find the SW DW carved into the table top.  
Sam smiles at Jack. “Yeah, we thought so.”  
Dean leans forward, voice serious. “We picked our legs because of the femoral artery.” He turns to Sam and winks “The profunda femoris because Sam’s such a pain in my ass.”  
Sam laughs, genuinely amused. “How long you been holding on to that one, Dean?”  
Dean slaps his leg in glee. “A long time, Sammy. A long time.”  
Sam turns back to the angel and Nephilim. “If the femoral artery is cut, you die. That’s why we carry each other’s heartbeats there. That’s the link. It’s that important.”  
Dean looks at Sam and his voice softens. “More.”


End file.
